


Two Babies and a Butters

by hollycomb



Category: South Park
Genre: Babies, Curtain Fic, Domestic Fluff, Implied Mpreg, Jealousy, M/M, McDonald's, Mulch - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 22:09:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3150050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollycomb/pseuds/hollycomb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cartman has settled into a comfortable domestic life with Butters, and he's all for the idea of combining their DNA, but the resulting baby takes up more of Butters' time than he would like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Babies and a Butters

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the most majestic Instagram in the land.

Cartman woke up cold and angry on a Sunday morning, and it only took him a few seconds of groggy irritation with Butters before he realized who was truly at fault. He pulled the blankets around himself more tightly and thought of his mother saying that the older she got, the more the winter seemed to creep past her papery old lady skin and into her bones. Cartman was only forty-two, still fat and hearty and reasonably thick-skinned, but he was feeling the winter more harshly than usual this year, cold all the goddamn time. 

It was the baby. She'd taken his source of heat and was hoarding it for herself.

When Butters started showing him articles about the advances in male pregnancy tech, getting that moony look in his eyes and pressing his fists together while he watched Cartman scan the information, Cartman had not been entirely opposed. He'd never really considered having kids until Kyle Broflovski started strutting around town with the spawn Stan had put in him. At first Cartman had embraced this purely as an opportunity to rag on Kyle endlessly for being, as Cartman had always known, basically a chick. Kyle was so ga-ga over his mini Stan that Cartman's brilliantly constructed taunts seemed to glaze right over him. This was infuriating, particularly because it led to Cartman feeling competitive: so Kyle though he was hot shit because had a kid, eh? Cartman could do that, too, via Butters, who already wanted one so much that he'd picked out a nursery theme.

Cartman left the bed with a quilt wrapped around him and padded to the nursery in his t-shirt and sweatpants, shoulders hunched against the cold. The nursery theme was Noah's Ark, with little animals everywhere and the walls painted a soft sea foam color. Butters and the baby were not there. Cartman heard pans clattering down in the kitchen and headed in that direction, the quilt dragging behind him as he made his way down the stairs.

"Butters!" he shouted, making his way through the living room. "It's fucking cold in here, what's the thermostat on?"

"Eric!" Butters was at the stove, not making cinnamon rolls or a bacon and egg casserole for Sunday brunch at home, which used to be a beloved Cartmanstotch family tradition. "Cool it with the curse words, mister," Butters said, nodding toward Sephora, who was seated at the table in her high chair. When she spotted Cartman she beamed and slapped her tray. 

"She's not even one yet," Cartman said, touching the baby's head on the way to the fridge. "She doesn't know fuck from frog." 

"Her speech is developing already and you know it! Just be careful. I don't want her blurting that word in front of my parents or something."

Cartman grunted and leaned over to put his mouth behind Butters ear, the quilt slipping off his shoulders as he slid his arm around Butters' waist.

"Fuck your parents," he said, quietly, though he didn't believe that word would transform their daughter into a delinquent and actually liked the idea of her telling Stephen and Linda Stotch to fuck right off. Butters grinned down at the vile-looking oatmeal he was heating on the stove top. He'd always been aroused by Cartman's insistence that his parents were the fucking worst. Butters knew it was true, deep down.

"Hush," Butters said. "Will you get Seffie her juice?" 

"I'm getting _my_ breakfast," Cartman said, whining. "And don't call her that, it sounds like selfie."

"Well, you won't let me call her Pho!"

"She's not a bowl of noodles, okay? I'll accept Phora and Seff. Nothing else. You're the one who named our kid after a goddamn makeup store. I get nicknaming rights."

"It's not just a gee-dee makeup store, Eric." 

Butters gave him a look, and Cartman shrugged. He was aware that Sephora was very important to Butters during his adolescence, and there had been a time when Cartman appreciated it, too. They had bonded over elaborate shoplifting schemes; Butters had to do most of the foot work, but Cartman was the brains behind the operation, and also better at doing makeup once they'd gotten their loot home.

"It comes from the Greek word for 'beauty,'" Butters said, like Cartman hadn't heard this before. "And she's the most beautiful girl in the world!"

They both turned to look at Sephora, and Cartman nodded in confirmation. She mostly looked like Butters, but without the weak chin and wispy eyebrows. She had an appropriate amount of Cartman-contributed highlights to her overall Butters look. The fatherhood experiment was a huge success, aesthetically, but Cartman still didn't really know what to do with a chick for a kid, despite his extensive teenage cross-dressing experience. He'd envisioned a son like the one Stan and Kyle had, someone who would play violent video games with him and laugh approvingly at his farts.

"Here's her juice," Cartman said, hoisting the bottle after he'd poured himself some chocolate milk. "What do I do with it?"

Butters gave him a look. Cartman wrinkled his nose. 

"Well, I don't know how much to pour! You're the one who juices her up, usually."

"Her sippy cup is in the cabinet. Don't pretend you don't know which one I'm talking about. Fill the cup and give it to her. Eric, really."

"Don't 'Eric, really' me. This is the weekend, okay? I work for a living, I'm supposed to be relaxing." 

Butters continued with his oatmeal stirring, unimpressed by this argument. For a long time they had worked together. Cartman bought Donovan's Footwear in his mid-thirties, after he finally managed to sell the land that had once been Cartmanland's auxiliary parking lot, the only thing he'd managed to retain when he lost the actual park. He got moderately screwed on the deal, but made enough to buy out Clyde's dad when he retired, and now the once-sad Donovan shoe store was a fabulous boutique featuring designer brands that were less obvious than the trickled-down trashy ones Donovan had carried. As the head buyer, Cartman had to travel to various shoe industry events and fashion shows around the globe. This used to be fun, with Butters along, but now Butters stayed home with the baby, leaving Cartman to eat alone at restaurant bars and masturbate glumly in hotel rooms while he was on the road. Even the work at the store had gotten exhausting without Butters there to be his store manager, and Butters' replacements had been a disappointing string of losers so far. The latest one was Scott Malkinson, probably destined to be the third manager fired by Cartman since the birth of Sephora.

"What am I supposed to eat?" Cartman asked, hovering by the fridge while Butters settled in to feed Sephora her oatmeal. Butters shrugged. 

"There's Frosted Mini Wheats," he said. 

"Frosted-- Butters! It's Sunday! That means a hot meal for brunch, remember? Whatever happened to that?" 

"What do you think?" Butters sighed and turned to Cartman. "I liked that, too, but I don't have time to cook in the morning and then make dinner later tonight, plus do all the dishes. Seff has a play date at noon, and then I have to go to the grocery store and give her a bath, and by then it will be dark and time to start cooking dinner. You know," Butters said, turning to Sephora with a spoon full of oatmeal. "You could always cook breakfast on Sunday mornings, if you miss it so much. I'd sure appreciate a hot meal made with love."

"Butters. You know I can't cook."

"Oh, Eric, it's not that hard if you practice a little." 

"Practice-- practice? When do I have time to practice anything? I am running a shoe empire single-handedly, okay?"

"It's one store!" Butters said, not even turning to look at Cartman. He was preoccupied with the baby, like always. Cartman loved her and everything, but this was getting ridiculous.

"Maybe we should hire a nanny," Cartman said. "Give you a little break." He didn't mention that this would also give Butters time to return to the important task of caring for his husband; that was implied and surely understood. Butters sighed.

"I don't want to leave her with some caretaker," he said. "She's too precious."

"I know she's precious, but so is your time, Butters. How about my mom?"

Butters shook his head. "Liane's getting old, Eric," he said, giving Cartman a sympathetic look. Cartman shrugged and started rooting through the cabinets, looking for anything more appealing that cereal. His mom was the same age as Butters' parents, but admittedly more senile, recently. "And don't even suggest my parents," Butters said, sarcastically. 

"Hell no," Cartman said. "They're never laying a finger on her without my careful supervision, I'll tell you that right now."

Cartman didn't understand why Butters couldn't just cut the Stotches out of his life for good, or why he'd needed to paste their stupid last name onto Cartman's after they got married. Stephen and Linda had not attended the wedding, though they were invited, and had not spoken much to Butters in the years afterward. They had 'come around' recently, which was important to Butters for some goddamn reason. Butters already had a perfectly good surrogate mother in Liane, who had accepted him and Cartman even when they were fucking in high school, and even when she walked in on them doing so in full drag.

"Who's she got this play date with at noon?" Cartman asked, giving up on the cabinets. He'd go to McDonalds after he got dressed, buy himself a brunch.

"Her play date is with Arthur and Brianna," Butters said.

"Ugh, them?"

"Eric, they're babies. They play with blocks and make noises at each other. And I don't know what you have against their parents, anyway."

"Their parents-- Butters! Arthur gestated in the treacherous womb of Kyle Broflovski. God knows what went on in there. Brianna's parents are Bebe and Kenny. That's like, a recipe for a debauched sex fiend if I ever heard one."

"Don't be silly." Butters turned to smile at him, and Sephora smacked her tray as if to protest this lapse in his attention. "You and me were the biggest s-e-x fiends in school, back in the day."

"That's preposterous," Cartman muttered, though it was pretty much true. He didn't like Butters saying so in front of their daughter, though she couldn't spell and wouldn't know what that word meant even if she could.

Upstairs in the shower, Cartman tried to remember when he'd figured out what sex was. He'd had some vague ideas about it throughout elementary school, complicated by that fiasco of a sex-ed program, bearing witness to many long years of the Stan and Kyle gay mating dance, and his own sleepovers with Butters. In middle school he'd figured out what was going on between his mother and the various men who hung around and quickly made themselves scarce. It had been traumatic, and embarrassing, because everyone had been saying things about his mom since he was five, and he'd always assumed it had more to do with him than anything she was actually doing. He was pretty mean to Liane until high school, when she cheerfully allowed the Cartman household to host his sometimes noisy afternoon delights with Butters. Then he was friends with his mom again, and nicer to her than he'd been as a kid, which still wasn't very. Now she was losing her mind, and it wasn't his fault, there was nothing he could do, but still. She couldn't seem to get a handle on how Sephora had appeared, no matter how graphically Butters explained the advancements in male reproductive science.

When he was dressed and ready to go in search of food, Cartman passed the nursery and saw Butters cooing to Sephora as he changed her diaper. He lingered in the doorway, watching jealously. Butters used to coo over him, sometimes. They hadn't had sex in weeks. 

"I'm going," Cartman announced when Butters went on not noticing that he was there. 

"Oh?" Butters turned. "Where are you going?"

"To find breakfast, out in the cold, since there's nothing for me here." 

"Daddy's being so dramatic!" Butters said, hoisting Sephora into his arms. She giggled. They were already laughing at him, siding against him. Cartman had fully expected their kid to like Butters better, because what kid wouldn't, but he'd hoped at least Butters would still prefer him, a little. 

"Have fun hanging out with the other moms," Cartman said. "Don't let Kyle's brat infect our daughter with anything." 

"Eric, Kyle would have that kid in the emergency room if he had so much as a cold. Quit worrying. Go find your food, if that's so important."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing! We'll see you later. I know you don't do play dates."

"It's Sunday, it's my day off!" 

"I know, and I'm serious! Enjoy it. See you later."

Cartman left the house in a bad mood, his stomach whining. By the time he'd arrived at McDonald's he'd missed the breakfast hours, but he was craving a Big Mac and fries anyway. He parked after clearing the drive-thru and ate in his SUV, feeling like he was back in high school again, during those years when Butters had shunned him. All because Cartman wouldn't take him to the junior prom like some kind of gaywad, a demand that had arisen after Stan and Kyle announced their 'brave' intention to attend together, as if everyone in South Park didn't already know they'd been sixty-nining since the cradle. By the time senior prom came around, Cartman was so lonely and horny that he literally got down on his knees and begged for Butters to go with him. Butters acquiesced, and Cartman didn't even care that Butters wore a dress to the dance. He'd liked it, actually. Five years later they got married, but Cartman had considered them as good as married since senior prom, because Butters was so gloriously content when Cartman broke down and did what he wanted. Maybe that made Cartman whipped, but whipped was better than jacking off alone and crying while he ate McDonalds in his car, which was kind of what he felt like doing now. 

Sunday mornings used to be special. They would wake up slowly, have sex, maybe fall asleep and have sex again. Cartman would take a hot shower or bath while Butters made some kind of elaborate meal complete with sliced fruit and bacon on the side. They would have champagne in their orange juice and then settle onto the couch for a long afternoon of watching football or movies, fondling each other, napping. It was best during the winter, when they were under piles of blankets together. Butters' body heat had been so good, under blankets: soft and warm and just right. His hormones had gone haywire since he had Sephora, and now he was always too hot, even since winter had descended full-blast. He was always sweating, and would pull away after a few minutes when Cartman rested his bulk against him in bed. Thinking about this, Cartman wibbled a little and shoved the last cold and short fry bits into his mouth.

Back at the house, Butters and Sephora had left for their play date. Cartman tried to relax with some TV, but he felt distracted, bored, unloved. Why did a baby need to go on a play date, anyway? What about him, when would he get his next play date? Butters didn't even have the energy to dress up for him anymore. He was asleep by eight o'clock most nights, sometimes with his arm curled around Sephora, who shared their bed more often than not. Cartman didn't think it was a good idea, possibly because he'd slept in Liane's bed until he was five. Not that anything was wrong with him, he was fucking ideal as a matter of fact, but Liane had started getting laid again around the time she'd banished him to his own bedroom, and while Cartman had hated her for that at the time, he now totally understood. He missed getting laid, wanted to fuck his husband, and was afraid he was going to have to wait four more years to get back to doing so on a regular basis. 

He dragged his laptop over and logged onto Facebook, hoping that Kenny would be online, or even fucking Clyde, somebody with kids who could give him advice. It was typical of his luck lately that only one of his Facebook friends had a green dot beside his name. Fucking Kyle.

 _I thought you were at a play date?_ Cartman sent, beginning to panic. What if Butters was lying, taking the baby along on some illicit tryst? It would explain his lack of interest in sex.

 _Stan is at the play date_ , Kyle sent back, after an insulting amount of time had passed. _I'm working._

Cartman scoffed. _Working on what?_

_What do you think? I'm researching mulch vendors_

Kyle and Stan ran a landscaping company together. It was totally lame. Kyle of course made all of the financial and design decisions. Stan did sales and client meetings, because he was the likable one. 

_Mulch vendors, eh?_ There was a joke about vaginas in there somewhere, but Cartman was too tired to make it, and almost desperate enough to ask Kyle's advice on post-child marriage. 

_Did you need something?_ Kyle sent, and Cartman could hear him saying that clearly, in his snippy little bitch voice, delivered with a cold stare. 

_How's your sex life?_ Cartman sent, because who gave a fuck what Kyle thought, anyway. 

_Excuse me?_

_Arthur is what, five months older than Sephora? You guys bounce back from the whole male pregnancy event yet?_

_Oh god_ , Kyle sent. _Don't hassle me for advice on how to seduce Butters, please. You're on your own._

 _Um, what? Obviously I know how to seduce him, asshole. He MARRIED me. Okay? Don't project your sexual frustration with Stan onto us. Just because he's not interested in your post-baby asshole_. 

_You know that the baby didn't come out of my ass. Me and Stan are great. We're closer than ever. Sorry to hear that you're struggling_.

 _I'm not struggling!_ Cartman sent, furious now. _I didn't say that!_

_Uh-huh. Look, your daughter is adorable, and me and Butters are both very lucky that we were able to do the procedure and have a baby with the men we love (presumably, in his case). Get over yourself if you think your sex life is going to be the same as it was before kids. Adult life is compromise._

_Don't lecture me on being an adult._ Cartman was very sorry that he'd started this conversation. _We're doing great. I just wanted to rag on you for_

Cartman left off there without sending, his cursor blinking. For what? Easing into parenthood more naturally than Cartman had? Giving birth to a boy who would share fart jokes with him someday? Not that Kyle was even man enough to make those. 

_Cartman, what's the matter?_

He could hear this in Kyle's smug voice, with that fake edge of sympathy, maybe a labored sigh. 

_Nothing. Leave me alone_

_The first year was hard for Stan, too_ , Kyle sent, after some time had passed. _I was hyper-focused on Arthur. Just tell Butters you want some time for the two of you. Ugh, god. I can't believe I'm saying this, but. Me and Stan could babysit, sometime, if you need some time alone_

Cartman couldn't believe Kyle was saying that either. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, wanting to type an insult, a snide refusal, anything that would undo this seemingly sincere turn of events.

 _Maybe_ , Cartman sent. _I'd have to check with Butters. He's very picky about caretakers_.

 _Whatever_ , Kyle sent. _I need to get back to work. Good luck._

Cartman wanted to come up with a bitchy retort to that 'good luck,' but he just didn't have enough inner bitchiness to compete; Kyle out-bitched him every time. He put the laptop away and stared glumly at the TV. When he heard his phone buzz he was afraid Kyle had sent some further advice on how to be adult, but the text was a picture from Butters: Sephora hugging Clyde Frog to her chest, sitting on a colorful carpet that Cartman vaguely recognized from Kenny and Bebe's finished basement. 

_cute_ , Cartman sent, and then he felt bad. He felt more than 'cute' when he looked at this picture. He had given Seff his old stuffed frog, stitched back together and worn to near-tatters from years of being clutched by Cartman, but he hadn't expected her to really like it. Now she toted it around with her everywhere. Butters called it her security blanket, and he said she liked Clyde Frog because he smelled like Cartman, which was vaguely insulting. If you really buried your nose against Clyde Frog's fuzzy head, he kind of reeked.

 _come home soon_ , Cartman sent, the jerky images on the muted television beginning to make him feel seasick, viewed from only the corner of his eye.

 _I've still got to go to the store_ , Butters sent. _I could drop Seff off and you could watch her while I shop? That would save me a ton of time at the store_

Cartman felt cornered into agreeing, just like every time he let Butters talk him into something he didn't really want to do. It wasn't that he didn't want to spend time with his daughter. He just wanted Butters here, too, to do all the delicate, baby-related stuff that made Cartman feel like he had hammers for hands. 

_fine_ , Cartman sent.

Half an hour later, Butters and Sephora were at the door, both of them heavily bundled in winter gear. Sephora was sort of threatening to cry, making whining noises as Butters handed her over to Cartman. Butters passed Clyde Frog to her once she was in Cartman's arms, and this quieted her whimpering a little, but not entirely. 

"She's tired," Butters said, taking off her little knit cap and smoothing her hair. "Put her down for a nap, okay? I'll be back soon." 

"What are you getting for dinner?" Cartman asked, pretending not to be freaked out. He couldn't remember being alone with the baby, not really, not without Butters at least sleeping elsewhere in the house. 

"Thought I'd get some nice tuna steaks," Butters said. His nose was red from the cold, and his cheeks were pink. Cartman was almost hard, looking at him in his over-sized winter clothes, wanting to peel them off and carry him upstairs to bed. Maybe after the baby was asleep, the groceries purchased. "You okay with with red potatoes as a side dish?" Butters asked.

"That's fine," Cartman said, though he'd rather have cheese potatoes, or at least baked potatoes that he could cover in cheese and sour cream. He was supposed to be watching his cholesterol. He'd meant to lean down and kiss Butters goodbye, but Butters was already heading back toward the car, and it seemed like a dumb thing to call him back for, though as soon as Butters was climbing into the driver's seat Cartman wondered what would happen if they lost him to a car accident. He looked down at Sephora. She stared up at him as if she knew what he was thinking, her eyes wide and slightly fearful. "We'd be fucked without him, huh?" Cartman said. He smoothed her hair and closed the door, locking out the cold.

Sephora was ornery again as Cartman took off her coat and fleece-lined booties. Her nose was running, and she didn't obey his command to blow into the tissue he got for her, just cried a little as he wiped at her nose ineffectively.

"Did you have fun with those townie brats?" Cartman asked, and the sound of his voice seemed to silence her into vague amazement. She hugged Clyde Frog against her with one arm and looked at the front door, then pointed to it. "He's coming back," Cartman said, and suddenly he was almost choked up, just for the stupid and improbable thought that one day Butters might not come back, run off the road by a McCormick or Randy Marsh, or any of the other innumerable dangers that the citizens of South Park represented. "Jesus," Cartman said, wiping at his own nose with the tissue he'd used on Sephora. "Let's go upstairs. You want a nap?"

She made a sound that was somewhat like 'no,' at least in spirit. Cartman hoisted her into his arms with a grunt and carried her up the stairs. He was looking forward to the day when she could talk, sort of. Eventually that talking would morph into adolescent snarling, and Cartman already had nightmares where she talked to him like he had once talked to Liane, ordering him around and telling him to shut up.

"Can I take your picture?" Cartman asked when he'd set her on the bed in the master bedroom. "For grandma?" 

Sephora was tired and not especially photogenic at the moment, but she was still cute, and Liane wasn't picky when it came to pictures of her. Cartman took a few, waggling Clyde Frog around so that she'd look in certain directions, and he sent the decent ones to Liane. Lately Liane had been forgetting how to work her phone, but most of the time she could figure it out. Cartman sometimes wondered if she was exaggerating her confusion for attention, because she was living all alone in their old house, with nothing to do but watch TV and text him incessantly. Eventually, she would have to come live with them, Cartman would have to convert his downstairs office into her cozy death room, and Butters would be even more frazzled and distracted, even less likely to stay awake long enough for sex.

"You want my advice?" Cartman said when he'd flopped onto the bed beside Sephora. "Don't grow up. It's hard. You don't get any breaks."

Sephora crawled onto him like he was a giant stuffed animal, and he groaned when her elbow dug right into his stomach. She dragged Clyde Frog along with her, and Cartman noticed that his tongue needed to be re-sewn; it was coming loose on the left side, the felt dangling precariously. 

"How about a nap?" Cartman asked, looking down at Sephora. She was lying on his stomach and staring at him, eyelids already drooping. She had Butters' big eyes, except that they were brown like Liane's. Cartman's were a kind of muddy hazel, a combination of his mother's eyes and his father's, which had been bright green. There was not a hint of ginger coloring in Sephora's hair or complexion, thankfully. "C'mere," Cartman said when she started to fall asleep for real on his stomach, but when he reached for her he couldn't bring himself to actually move her; she was already out, breathing through her mouth in little huffs. It would be harder to get her to go back to sleep if he carried her to her crib or even relocated her to the pillows at he head of the bed, so he deflated and stared up at the ceiling, letting her use him as a bed. Butters had done it before. He put his hand on Sephora's back, tracking the rise and fall of her tiny breaths, and fell asleep, too.

When he woke up he was lying on his side, and his first panicked thought was that he had rolled over onto the baby. The room was dark, the sun gone. He felt around the mattress, but she wasn't there, he hadn't crushed her. He wasn't very relieved when he couldn't find her anywhere on the bed, and he turned on the light beside the bed before standing, afraid he would step on her. 

“Butters!” he shouted when he barreled out of the bedroom. There were lights on downstairs, noises from the kitchen.

“Yeah?” Butters called back.

Cartman didn't answer. He hurried into Sephora's room, where the baby monitor was sitting on the changing table beside her crib, its green 'activated' button glowing. Sephora was asleep in her crib, lying on her belly, Clyde Frog standing guard nearby. Cartman reached in to touch her back, and he waited until she'd taken ten steady breaths before leaving the nursery, still shaky. 

“What the hell?” he said when he walked into the kitchen, where Butters was slicing up red potatoes. “You scared the shit out of me!”

“Oh,” Butters said, turning to him. “I'm sorry! I found you guys sleeping together, and I told you I was taking her to her crib. You sort of opened your eyes and said 'fine,' but sometimes you do that when you're really still asleep. I didn't mean to scare you. Aw, Eric, c'mere.”

Cartman grunted irritably but let Butters hug him around the middle. He put a hand on the back of Butters' head, could smell chopped garlic and something lemony.

“Eric,” Butters said, again, in that soft way that was annoying but also kind of great. Butters was rubbing Cartman's back, his cheek resting between the doughy tit-like mounds on Cartman's chest. “Your heart's beating real hard,” Butters said, looking up at him. Cartman shrugged.

“Baby was gone,” he said, mumbling. Butters moaned and hugged him again. 

“You two looked so cute, sleeping together,” he said. “But I thought you'd rest easier if I took her to her crib.”

“She can sleep with us. I don't care. It's good. I just miss sex, Butters, okay?”

“Jesus,” Butters said, sort of rubbing himself against Cartman. “Me too, ah. I was thinking about it today.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

They looked at each other, and something clicked in Cartman's chest like it used to in high school: this was a moment when he was being given permission, when he could do what he wanted. He glanced at the potatoes on the counter, saw the baby monitor sitting near the cutting board.

“Do we have time?” Cartman asked. “Now, before dinner?”

“Maybe if we do it here,” Butters said. He had that wicked look in his eyes, halfway between Professor Chaos and the vampire chick character he used to do around Halloween, when he'd sink his teeth into Cartman's neck just enough to make him sort of freaked out, mostly turned on. 

They used vegetable oil for lube, and Butters held onto the counter while Cartman pounded him, both of them glancing at the baby monitor occasionally, as if it might be offended. After weeks without it they both came fast, and Cartman sank down to the floor when they were done, knees aching. He pulled Butters with him, into his lap. They were still connected, both panting. 

“Jesus,” Butters said, slumping back against him. “Eric.” 

“Yeah,” Cartman said. “That was. We should-- I miss you.” 

“Aw.” Butters reached back to fondle his ear. “Me too, big guy. We'll figure it out.” 

Cartman felt confident of this when they sat down to dinner, Sephora in her high chair. There was probably some come residue on the cabinets, but she was way too young to notice or care. That was the magic of babies, toddlers, whatever. It was actually kind of like a pass to have sex all over the house, one that they hadn't been taking advantage of so far. When Butters smiled at him from across the table, Cartman got the feeling they'd already figured it out: kitchen sex, laundry room sex, couch sex, whatever. Sephora could share their bed at night, and that wouldn't ruin anything. This whole house was theirs.


End file.
